Seven Seas of Pain
by Schattengestalt
Summary: Sherlock is stubborn. He doesn't want to deal with a toothache, so he just ignores it... until it becomes impossible to ignore. Then, he just wants the night to be over and see a dentist. Even if that means that John won't comfort him with gentle touches and kind words any longer. Johnlock.


**Author Notes** : Just an One-Shot this time, but I hope I will get around to writing longer stories again, soon. :) The part of the story, which deals with a toothache is based on my own experiences, so believe me when I tell you that it can get as bad as it goes in this story.^^"

But don't worry, there will be enough fluff to make up for it and now: Enjoy! :)

 **Seven Seas of Pain**

Sherlock was in pain.

It had taken John a while to figure out the reason for his friend's dark mood for the last five days - besides the lack of interesting cases - but it had become rather apparent today. Not only, had John found several packs of paracetamol missing from his medical kite, but Sherlock's whole behavior had indicated that he didn't feeling well. For starters, Sherlock had spent most of the day on the couch, but he hadn't sulked or visited his Mind Palace. No, judging from the looks Sherlock had thrown at his chemical equipment, it had rather appeared like he had wanted to start an experiment, but couldn't muster the energy in himself to get up from the couch.

Headache, John had suspected at first, when Sherlock had pressed one side of his face against the cushions and held a pillow against his other side. It would have explained Sherlock's bad temper - he had snapped at John for breathing - and the disappearance of the pain killers. John had been about to suggest to get an appointment at the surgery - a headache that went on for more than a day was a reason for worry - when Sherlock had gotten up and played his violin.

John had scratched _headache_ and _inflammation of the middle ear_ from his mental list of possible maladies that could have befallen his friend, when Sherlock had looked more relaxed while playing. The blue eyes had also been perfectly clear, when John had checked them on sight, so no infection there either. If it hadn't been for dinner, John would have risked Sherlock's wrath and asked him where he was hurting. As it was, the pasta from Angelo and one hard noodle had solved the puzzle for him. Sherlock had taken a mouthful of his favorite dish, chewed and winced.

"You have a toothache." John spoke without thinking and was met with an angry glare. "My teeth are fine," Sherlock snapped and grimaced at the same time. His hand came up to cover his right cheek - which appeared swollen, now that John looked at it - and Sherlock glowered down at his pasta. "It's just an irritation of the gingiva, it will go away on its own."

John shook his head and leaned towards Sherlock on his elbows. "If it was a gingivitis, the amounts of paracetamol you have taken, should have helped and I am sure that you would have cut open your own gum, if you had suspected pus. Besides, you flinched, when you bit down... you should really see a dentist, Sherlock." John's speech was received with a huff and a roll of eyes as Sherlock picked up his fork and ate another bite, which he only chewed on his left side. "My teeth are fine, John. I have only ever needed one filling in my entire life. It's only a minor irritation, it will go away in due time."

John frowned at that, but he refrained from saying anything else about it. If Sherlock didn't want to see a dentist, then there was no way of forcing him to do otherwise. God knew, how often John had tried to persuade Sherlock to do something, he was averse to. No matter, if they were arguing about the laundry, the dishes or going to the hospital for stitches. Once, Sherlock had decided that something was beneath him, only a miracle would change his mind. Like a toddler, John thought amused and watched how his friend finished his meal and left the used dishes on the table for John to collect.

The remainder of the evening passed peacefully, with Sherlock sprawled on the couch and staring at the ceiling, while John watched a rerun of _Golden Eye_. He didn't bring up Sherlock's toothache again, but he noted every time his friend pressed a pillow against his right cheek as if it was possible to smolder the pain. They would probably make a trip to the dentist tomorrow or at the day after, when even Sherlock had to admit that his teeth wouldn't heal themselves. And of course, John would accompany him, if only to make sure that his friend didn't insult the staff at the praxis and had to suffer for it, in the end.

"I am going to bed."

John glanced at the clock, when Sherlock rose from the couch. It was barely past ten and Sherlock usually didn't go to bed until long past midnight - if he went to bed at all.

"Don't take too much paracetamol," John reminded his friend and was met with a haughty glare, as Sherlock left for the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, the door to Sherlock's bedroom opened and then closed and John was reminded how quiet the flat was, when his best friend wasn't around to wrack havoc with his experiments. Even, when Sherlock was just lying motionless on the couch, his presence alone was enough to fill the room with life. Or maybe, that were just John's feelings for Sherlock speaking. Hell, he even missed the git, when he was supposed to pay his undivided attention to his patients at the surgery, while Sherlock hadn't even noticed that John had been gone to New Zealand for two weeks.

John sighed quietly and switched the TV off. It was useless to mourn Sherlock's lack of feelings for him. Or rather, a lack of romantic feelings, since John didn't doubt that Sherlock felt _something_ for him, even if it didn't go beyond friendship. And that was fine, John decided as he ventured upstairs to his bedroom. Sherlock was his best friend and John wasn't going to bother him with his unwanted feelings. Instead, he would rather nag Sherlock about seeing a dentist tomorrow, before his friend decided to fight the pain with something stronger than paracetamol. This decided, John stripped down to his boxers and huddled under the covers to get a decent amount of sleep for a change.

OOO

It hurt! It hurt like hell.

Sherlock clutched a soft flannel to his cheek and whimpered as pain pulsed through his mouth and made him want to cry out. The whole right side of his mouth seemed to be on fire, although Sherlock had determined that the origin of the pain was a molar tooth of the upper jaw. At least, that was the point where the pain originated from. It pulsed with every breath he took and the pain killers could barely take away the edge of the pain.

Sherlock threw a glance at the clock on his nightstand. Half past two in the morning, he had managed to sleep for about three and a half hours, after taking three paracetamol, before going to bed. Needless to say that the numbing effect had disappeared completely by now and another four pills hadn't reduced the pain to a bearable level for longer than half an hour.

Sherlock blinked the moisture away, when his eyes watered as another wave of pain surged from his tooth through his whole head and a broken sob was torn from his lips. He didn't try to hold it back as the pain reached a new peak. John had been right, Sherlock thought without malice as his body shook with pain and sobs in the darkness of his room. He should have gone to a dentist days ago, but Sherlock preferred to ignore his body's needs for as long as possible. It had come in handy, after his drug withdrawal, when he had only needed a good puzzle to occupy his mind with, when the craving for cocaine had become too hard to simple ignore. This time though, his tendency to treat his body as transport had backfired and it seemed to take revenge for every time, Sherlock had only eaten a biscuit in days or slept for less than three hours during a case. And what a revenge it was!

Ten to three in the morning, at least five more hours until Sherlock got the chance to see a dentist and he would probably have to wait for even longer, if they couldn't give him an appointment on short notice. Of course, he could call Mycroft and ask him for help. His brother would even be able to get Sherlock a skilled dentist at this hour of the night, but... No, Sherlock didn't want to own Mycroft a favor, just because he had a stupid toothache. It didn't matter that the pain was slowly but certainly driving him mad and that he couldn't flee to his Mind Palace, while a group of elephants appeared to dance Flamenco on the nerves of his molar.

"Ouch! Ouch, ouch!" Sherlock whined, when he nudged the tooth with his tongue. That was worse than the one time, he had broken his leg as a child or when a suspect had beaten him up. Even withdrawal didn't appear like such an ordeal in Sherlock's memory.

"Please, I just want to sleep. I can't... not anymore..." Sherlock didn't care how pathetic he sounded as he spoke into his empty room. At least, the motion of speaking distracted him from the worst of the pain for a few seconds and it wasn't as if anyone was there to hear him.

"Sherlock?" John's voice sounded from the doorstep of his bedroom and a ray of light fell on the floor, where his friend had cracked the door open. "Is everything okay?"

"No," Sherlock rasped out, before he could stop himself. John would notice his red rimmed eyes soon enough tomorrow and there was no use in fooling him now, when it was only a matter of hours, until he learned the truth. Besides, pain always seemed more bearable, when John was around and... Sherlock didn't want to be alone. Even if John decided to make fun of him - which Sherlock doubted - it would be better than to endure the pain without his friend.

Feet shuffled through the bedroom and stopped next to the bed. The lamp on the nightstand was switched on and John's worried face came into view as his friend hovered over Sherlock's hunched form.

"You are in pain." Sherlock nodded at the obvious statement and winced, when the movement put too much pressure on his right cheek. Blue eyes softened as they peered down at his face. "How many painkillers have you taken?"

"Four... in the last half hour."

A frown appeared between John's eyebrows and Sherlock prepared himself for a lecture about the responsible use of medicaments. Instead, John sat down on the edge of the bed, on a level with Sherlock's stomach, and touched a hand to his forehead. Sherlock flinched at the cool touch and John's frown deepened even farther, worry visible in his eyes. "You are running a low fever. I wager that you have an infection. What are the symptoms?"

"Pulsing pain, originating from one molar. It hurts, John." Sherlock hated how his voice cracked at the last words. Actually, he hated everything about this night. The pain, the tears, the humiliation of John seeing him so weak and his own helplessness about the whole situation.

More moisture ran down Sherlock's cheeks, when his tooth gave another painful throb and a gentle thumb swept it away. Sherlock blinked up at John, who smiled sadly down at him. "I am not a dentist and I can't give you stronger painkillers, since I don't know what narcotics they are going to use during the treatment tomorrow... or well, today," John added with a look at the clock, which read a quarter past three. Obviously, there was no doubt in John's mind that Sherlock was going to see a dentist... Well, it was only fair, since there was no doubt in Sherlock's mind about that either. "I can search the fridge for some ice cubes - or frozen peas - to ease the pain a little. Maybe, I even have some _Pansoral_ somewhere - it is a gel to numb an irritated gum -, although I doubt that..."

"Stay," Sherlock whispered insistently and grabbed John's wrist as his friend made to get up. He doubted that any of the things, John had just described, would cease the pain, but John's presence did. Or at least, if his toothache meant that he was allowed to spend a night with John in his bed, then the pain wouldn't appear completely unbearable to Sherlock anymore. Besides, he didn't have to fear that his body was going to betray him, while in close proximity to his friend. The pain was much too intensive for Sherlock to get an erection, while John was in bed with him. So, there was no danger of spooking John and destroying their friendship, with Sherlock's feelings for John.

"Are you sure that you want me here?" John didn't try to break Sherlock's grip nor did he appear shocked by his request. John's voice was absolutely calm and it didn't seem like he was disgusted by the idea of sharing a bed with Sherlock. "Yes, the pain is more bearable with you here and... I swear, I won't keep you from sleeping and... John, please." Sherlock would have felt horrible for begging like a little child, if John's eyes hadn't softened farther as he nodded his consent. "Alright, I will stay, but you have to promise me to wake me, if the pain gets any worse."

"Yes, I promise." Sherlock let go of John's wrist and almost smiled, when his friend climbed into his bed and laid down next to him. Only almost, because the pain was much too bad to muster even this small sign of happiness, even with John in his bed.

A warm weight settled against Sherlock's back and he gasped, when John's arm encircled his waist and a warm palm settled down on top of Sherlock's shirt, right over his navel. "Okay?" John whispered and his warm breath tickled the hairs on Sherlock's neck. He nodded, his mouth was too dry to formulate a verbal answer and the working part of his mind - which hadn't been rendered useless by the pain - had turned to mush at John's closeness. Sherlock felt the warmth radiating from John's body and how his chest expanded against Sherlock's back with every breath he took. If the pain in his mouth hadn't been trying to turn him insane, that would have been heaven, although it wouldn't have happened in the first place, if Sherlock hadn't suffered from an infection. No chance, that John would ever willingly share a bed with Sherlock, if it wasn't out of necessity or his sense of duty as a doctor.

"Try to get some sleep or rest, at least," John murmured in his ear, while his hand rubbed soothing circles on Sherlock's stomach. "We will get you an appointment at a colleague's of mine, first thing in the morning."

Sherlock didn't bother telling John that it was almost impossible to sleep, while your mouth seemed to be on fire. Instead, he concentrated on the spots, where John's and his body touched - stomach, back, shoulders - to block out part of the pain.

The clock read four in the morning, when Sherlock's eyes slipped shut and his body gave into its need for sleep, despite the pain.

OOO

John had never been more thankful for a nightmare that had brought him to the kitchen - in need of some water - than while he was cuddled close to Sherlock in the early morning hours. If he hadn't wandered down from his bedroom, then he wouldn't have heard his friend's distressed whimpers and it wouldn't have led to _this_... whatever this was.

John frowned in the twilight of the bedroom as Sherlock clutched John's hand to his stomach in his sleep and murmured something unintelligible. It was like a small miracle, that John got to see this side of Sherlock. His unguarded, clingy side, which John hadn't even thought existed until tonight. Still, he would rather have it revealed to him on a different occasion. An occasion that didn't involve pain and tears from Sherlock and feelings of guilt from John.

John sighed quietly and stroked Sherlock's messy curls tenderly, when his friend shifted in his sleep. Did it make him a terrible human being that he was secretly enjoying this closeness between them, while his best friend was in a hell of pain? Certainly, as a doctor, John shouldn't feel happy that Sherlock had asked him to sleep with him - only sleep, he snapped inwardly at his body, before it could react to the picture that came with the phrase - because he felt so terrible that he didn't want to be alone. No, John should only feel sympathy, instead of a mix of sympathy, happiness and guilt for his happiness.

Christ, John took a deep breath and filled his nose with Sherlock's unique scent. There was a hint of fresh sweat and salty tears in the mix and only Sherlock's hand on his own, kept John in the bed, when another wave of guilt hit him in the chest. He shouldn't take advantage of Sherlock's state, by sniffing at him like a love sick dog. Hell, John shouldn't even have climbed into bed with his best friend. He should have sat down in a chair to hold watch over his best friend, instead of lying down next to him. Sherlock would have never allowed John these liberties, if he had known that John's feelings for him went far beyond friendship. John was already abusing the trust Sherlock had placed into him with his mere presence in his bed.

Yes, he was definitely a terrible human being, John decided as he pressed a soft kiss to the woolen clad shoulder of his friend. Still, no one else had to know and he would make up for it by taking care of Sherlock, until he was back to his old, irritating, mad self. John nodded to himself and allowed his body to relax into the warmth that radiated from Sherlock as his mind slipped away into sleep.

OOO

Pain!

Sherlock shot up from the pillow and moaned, when his tooth sent a painful throb through his head. If tongs had been handy, Sherlock would have pulled the culprit out of his mouth without a second thought. He didn't even care, if that was what the dentist was going to do, as long as the pain stopped. How Sherlock had ever believed that it was a useless form of torture to drill open one's teeth, until you hit the nerves, was beyond him. He would probably tell the dentist all of his secrets, if it meant an end to the pain.

A glance at the clock told him that he had to wait yet another half hour, until any praxis in London would open. Why didn't dentists open before half past seven? Certainly, there had to be workers, who needed an appointment at an earlier hour.

Sherlock whimpered and almost flinched, when a warm hand squeezed his shoulder in reply, before he remembered that John was in his bed. John - his doctor and best friend - had spent the night in his bed and Sherlock... hadn't been awake for most of it. He groaned - more in regret than in pain this time - as he mourned the lost chance of watching John in his sleep. Sherlock hadn't even gotten to snuggle up to John - in the pretence of sleep - and record every minor reaction to a few innocent touches. Of course, Sherlock wouldn't have taken advantage of his friend, but a peck on the cheek or a gentle caress of John's shoulder, wouldn't have hurt, right? Sherlock didn't get a chance to pinpoint if such a behavior would have been acceptable - he couldn't ask John for his opinion - as his friend sat up and sent him a worried glance. "You look horrible."

Sherlock huffed in amusement, although he only wanted to curl up in a small ball and forget the pain. "Your manners are abysmal or do you always tell your lovers how unsightly they are after spending the night? In that case, it's no wonder that your girlfriends always leave you after four dates."

A low gasp sounded next to him and Sherlock cringed at his choice of words. He had only wanted to lighten the mood, especially since the friendly banter with John took his mind away from his tooth for a few seconds. John certainly wouldn't see it like this. Sherlock had just managed to insult John's skills as a boyfriend and the women he had dated in a couple of sentences. Wonderful, Sherlock thought cynical to himself, he had managed to ruin the first - and probably only - night he had ever spent in bed with his best friend by insulting him in the morning. No wonder that none of Sherlock's former... _amours_ had stayed the night, after a short fling. He was terrible at choosing his words with care and John... was getting up and out of bed.

Sherlock sighed and glanced down at his folded hands in his lap. Now, he didn't only hurt like hell, but he had also managed to alienate his friend, when all Sherlock wanted to do was hid his face in the crook of John's neck and have him stroke Sherlock's curls, until the pain went away. As it was, Sherlock would be lucky, if John so much as inquired after Sherlock's wellbeing, when he came back from the dentist. John probably already regretted that he had given in to Sherlock's plea and shared a bed with him.

"You aren't unsightly." Sherlock's head snapped up, only to meet John's eyes - mere inches away from his face. "You are flushed with fever, the circles under your eyes are purple and your right cheek is swollen, but I am sure you could still charm your way past every security measure."

Sherlock blinked in confusion, which only increased when he noted the faint blush that covered John's cheeks as his friend averted his eyes and stared at the nightstand. "I just wanted to make it clear that I don't insult anyone I share a bed with and... I mean... that wasn't a metaphor for anything, just... I know that we aren't lovers, but... I'll call a colleague of mine and get you the first possible appointment. You better get dressed." John turned on his heels and hurried towards the kitchen, without a glance back at Sherlock.

If Sherlock had been confused before, he was completely out of his depth by now. It was one thing for John to ignore Sherlock's insult - which hadn't been intended as one - and compliment his best friend, it was quite something else for him to stumble over his own words. Doctor John H. Watson didn't stutter. He cursed. He ordered. He... flirted.

Sherlock stared in the direction of the kitchen, from where he could make out John's business like voice as he made true on his promise and phoned a dentist. Was it possible that John... But no, John wasn't interested in Sherlock, was he? At least, John had never shown any signs that he wanted more from Sherlock than friendship... or had he missed it? Sherlock frowned down at the covers. It seemed impossible for him to miss that John was interested in him, especially since Sherlock held feelings for him as well. Still, there was a slight chance - one percent at the most - that John had managed to hide the depth of his feelings from Sherlock. He should test this theory, as soon as possible and...

"Sherlock! Get dressed, you have an appointment in half an hour!"

Later, Sherlock decided as John's voice - and the insistent throbbing in his mouth - spurred him into action. As soon as this nuisance of a tooth was taken care of, Sherlock would be free to conduct an experiment to figure out John's feelings. Sherlock nodded to himself as he put on a soft pullover - more comfortable than button downs - and calmed himself with the thought that there were worse things than an appointment at the dentist, while he hurried through his morning routine. Still, Sherlock couldn't help a relieved sigh, when he spotted John wearing his jacket and waiting at the door with Sherlock's coat and scarf.

"Can't risk you insulting the staff at the praxis," John winked at him and Sherlock smiled. No matter, how the dentist was going to torture him or what results his experiment would provide, John's friendship would remain a constant in his life.

"I doubt that even I will manage to talk much at a dentist's." John laughed and he was still giggling, when they arrived at the praxis, although Sherlock felt like he was walking to his own execution as he stepped through the glass door and was greeted by a wave of antiseptics.

OOO

"Your boyfriend will be out in a few minutes."

John smiled at the receptionist and nodded, instead of bothering to correct her. It would have appeared strange, if he had denied a relationship with Sherlock, after he had nagged the doctor's assistant, until she had told him how long Sherlock's treatment would likely take, so that John was able to pick him up afterwards. Besides, it had been a long time, since John had been bothered by assumption about Sherlock's and his relationship. And even at the very beginning, John hadn't cared about labels such as _gay_ or _straight_ , but had only denied a romantic relationship with Sherlock, because... Well, none existed. Which was the truly annoying aspect about such assumptions, since everyone thought that they already had, what John longed for.

He sighed quietly and shook his head as he glanced at the clock. No, was not the time to muse about his feelings for Sherlock nor if his friend returned them. God only knew how often John had recalled Sherlock's plea to stay the night with him and wondered if Sherlock had seen him as more than merely a comforting presence, in the last couple of hours. He hadn't come to a satisfying conclusion, between three cups of coffee and a few pastries at the café down the street. Maybe, it would be for the best to ask Sherlock straightaway, instead of speculating about his friend's motives, when John knew for sure that he couldn't grasp Sherlock's logic most of the time. But only, after Sherlock had had a good night's sleep and was back to his old, brilliant self.

"Four and a half nerves!"

John jumped at the familiar voice and chuckled as he noticed Sherlock, who leaned against the desk of the receptionist and beamed down at him. Trust Sherlock to sneak up on him, even when John had expected his friend to appear at any second. "Usually a molar has three nerves - four nerves is very rare - but the dentist even found another tiny nerve that hadn't completely formed. He had to pull out all of them, because they had been inflamed, thanks to the porous filling that had been in that tooth for years."

John grinned at Sherlock's excited explanation. "Congratulation, even your teeth are special." It was meant as a joke, but Sherlock's expression turned serious at once as he regarded John with a strange look. "You think, I am special?"

John opened his mouth and closed it again. Somehow, this didn't feel like a situation that only called for John to assure Sherlock how brilliant and extraordinary he was. Maybe, it was just John's imagination - fueled by his constant thinking about Sherlock for the past few hours - but it felt like there was a deeper meaning to Sherlock's question. Before John was able to decide how best to answer, the receptionist interrupted his thoughts as she handed them a note for another appointment.

John frowned down at it and then glanced up at Sherlock. "You have to come back in a couple of days?"

"Yes, they only put a makeshift filling in my tooth, so that they can be sure that nothing was left of the nerves, if it doesn't hurt again." Sherlock's voice was perfectly clear, but the enthusiasm had vanished and John noted the first signs of exhaustion in the line of Sherlock's face and how he leant against the counter. Right, hours - maybe days - of constant pain, a few restless hours of sleep, a local anesthesia and a two hours treatment, were even enough to wear Sherlock out. It was probably the only reason, as to why Sherlock hadn't demanded an answer from John to his former question and John was thankful for the respite, since he hadn't decided yet if he should use Sherlock's question as an opening for a long overdue conversation about their feelings. At least, it was overdue from John's point of view, after he had caught himself dreaming about waking up in bed with Sherlock every morning at the café. He had to know where they stood, so that he could move on in either direction, but firstly: "Let's get you home. Mrs. Hudson has promised to prepare a soup for you, when the effect of the anesthesia has worn off."

"Fine." Sherlock didn't put up a fight or start a discussion, when John slung an arm around him to lead him out of the praxis - to the delighted smile of the receptionist - and that alone proved just how exhausted he was.

"Baker Street," John told the driver, after he had managed to hail them a taxi and hid his smile, when Sherlock slumped down against him, with his head bedded on John's shoulder. Maybe, he mused hopefully, as London's streets passed by the window, John didn't have to worry about a conversation about their feelings for each other. Maybe, one word would be enough to change their relationship forever.

OOO

John hadn't answered his question.

Sherlock pouted at the injustice of it as he drew the afghan up to his chin. How was he supposed to gather the necessary data about John's feelings, if his friend didn't even answer a simple question? Or, was Sherlock about to make a misassumption and the question had been far from simple for John?

Sherlock frowned at the ceiling and rearranged the pillow, until he was comfortable with its position. John had insisted that Sherlock rested for some time, at least until the anesthesia had worn of and when Sherlock had argued that he didn't want to go back to bed, his friend had arranged so many pillows on the couch, until it could easily be confused with a bed. Maybe, that was the answer to Sherlock's question. Surely, John wouldn't fuss over all of his friends like this. He certainly didn't nag Lestrade about his sleeping habits, although the DI got barely more sleep than Sherlock, while working on a complicated case. So, did that mean that Sherlock was special to John or did the fact that they were flatmates interfere with the data? Sherlock almost groaned in desperation, when he couldn't find a clear answer, but he stopped himself just in time, when he remembered that John was reading in his armchair. His friend would be at his side in a second, if he suspected that Sherlock didn't feel well.

A small smile played around the corner of Sherlock's lips at the thought. John was always there for him. He had comforted him last night, brought him to the dentist and fussed over him at home. Maybe, that was the answer. It was naturally for John to look out and take care of him and therefore, Sherlock's former question had been too rhetorical for John to even _consider_ answering it. Yes, this actually made sense. Sherlock nodded to himself and smiled once more, when the movement didn't cause him any pain. Of course, his numb cheek - from his chin to his ear and including the right part of his nose - was starting to get on Sherlock's nerves by now, but he wouldn't complain about it... yet. Not when he could still recall the relief that had washed over him, when the dentist had injected his gum with the anesthetic and the pain had been reduced instantly. The feeling had been better than a cocaine high or solving a triple murder and as good as a night of nonstop sex.

A low chuckle escaped Sherlock's lips at the thought and John's attention turned to him at once. Sherlock could tell by the absence of any noise - no rustling of clothes or turning of pages - that John held himself complete still, while his eyes were fixed on Sherlock. He wondered if his friend was going to remark on the sound or pretend that he hadn't noticed it.

"A penny for your thoughts." John's amused voice sounded from his armchair and Sherlock grinned. He had been certain to ninety percent that John would choose the route of conversation, instead of silence. He mostly did, when it came to Sherlock. "My thoughts are worth more than a penny," Sherlock huffed in mocked annoyance and John laughed quietly. "I am sure they are."

The book was clapped shut and placed on the armrest, before the cracking of strained tendons indicated that John had gotten up. Sherlock kept staring at the ceiling, while he listened to the noises his friend made in the kitchen - preparation of tea, two mugs - until his steps carried him back into the living-room.

"Two sugar, no milk," John announced as he placed one mug on the stool, he had placed next to the couch - which held Sherlock's phone and a book - so that Sherlock wouldn't have to get up, if he needed something. Yes, John definitely cared for him, Sherlock decided and made a decision in the same second, when it appeared that his friend intended to go back to his boring book.

"John?" Sherlock turned his head in his direction and John crunched down at his side in an instant. "Yes, Sherlock, do you need... Yikes!"

John's lips were so soft - he used lip balm - and fit perfectly against his own. Sherlock tightened his hold on John's neck and propped himself up on his elbow to have better access to his friend's sinful mouth. The position wasn't comfortable and Sherlock's arm started trembling right away, since it had to hold most of his weight, but Sherlock didn't care about it. He only cared for John's lips on his and the absolute perfection he found in the kiss. If Sherlock had known that all he had to do to get a kiss from John was to catch him by surprise, he would have done it ages ago. He nipped at John's lower lip with his teeth and then nudged it with his tongue to deepen their kiss. It was then, that everything went wrong. A hand gripped Sherlock's shoulder and pushed him away at the same time as John angled his head to the side and away from him. "Stop!"

Sherlock froze on the couch. He allowed John to break free from his grip and watched with a sinking feeling how his friend sat back on his heels and regarded him with an unreadable expression. Fuck, Sherlock cursed inwardly, even while his mind raced through the last seconds - or minutes - to figure out what had gone wrong. John hadn't torn away from Sherlock right away, but... he hadn't returned the kiss either.

Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut as the consequences of his actions came to his mind. He had kissed John and his friend had been too kind - shocked? disgusted? - to draw away from him at first. And Sherlock had ignored the lack of reciprocation on John's part completely, until... it had been too late. And now... John would start acting differently around Sherlock. He would avoid unnecessary touches between them and it would lead to him avoiding Sherlock completely and in the end John would... leave.

Sherlock pressed his lips into a thin line to stop a whimper from completing his misery by making an appearance. He had ruined everything, only because he had acted without the necessary data at his hands. A few more days would have been all Sherlock would have needed to figure out the depths of John's feelings for him and then he could have worked out if it was possible to woo John or... if everything was in vain. But now...

A cool hand cupped his cheek and Sherlock's eyes snapped open to be met with John's worried gaze. "You didn't hear anything of what I just said, did you?"

Sherlock shook his head. No use in denying the obvious. His eyes flickered carefully over John's face, which loamed close to Sherlock's as his friend sat on the edge of the couch and leaned over him. There were no hints in the lines of John's face or his expression as to what he had told Sherlock. Though, it couldn't be too bad, since John didn't appear angry or annoyed, rather a little amused. Maybe, John blamed Sherlock's lack of sleep, the pain and the anesthesia for the kiss and he would forgive him. Everything could become as it had been... with the only difference that Sherlock now knew the feeling of John's lips on his own. He would recall it every time, John sipped from his tea or stroked his chin while in thought. It would be torture, it would be...

A soft peck to his lips drew Sherlock away from his rising panic and he glanced up in surprise. John was shaking his head and smiling down at him, his expression even more amused than before. "I can't read your mind, but judging from the way you frown," A finger stroked over Sherlock's furrowed forehead gently. "Your thoughts aren't pleasant. Stop it and talk with me!"

Sherlock gulped at the command and then took heart from the way his lips still tingled where John's lips had connected with them seconds ago. "Why did you pull away from the kiss?"

"Because you have just spent a couple of hours with a trepan in your mouth. Your gum is sore and your cheek is still swollen. I didn't want to get carried away and hurt you by accident. What did you think was the reason?"

Sherlock shrugged nonchalant, even as his heart pounded away in his chest as John's words sunk in. "I assumed you didn't want to kiss... me." The amusement vanished from blue eyes and was replaced by such tenderness that Sherlock had to swallow down a lump in his throat as he gazed up at his friend. No one had ever looked at him with so much... sentiment. All his former lovers had only ever wanted him for his body... or his help with their homework. Feelings had never been involved, but it appeared like this was about to change. Oh, and how Sherlock hoped that it was about to change.

"Sherlock." A gentle hand stroked his messy curls. "If I hadn't wanted to kiss you, I would have drawn away at once. The truth is," John wet his lips with his tongue. "I want to kiss you as often and as long as you will let me, but... I don't want to hurt you."

Sherlock opened his mouth, closed it again, swallowed and finally managed to get words past his lips. "So no kissing, until my mouth has made a full recovery?" He couldn't keep the questioning tone out of his voice, although John had all but admitted that he wanted to kiss him. Still, Sherlock would rather be safe than sorry... at least, where John was concerned.

"No heated kissing until there is no risk of me hurting you," John corrected and underlined his words with a chaste kiss to Sherlock's jaw. "I am sure it will be fine in another day or two."

"When, I have to go to the dentist again." Sherlock couldn't hide his pout and John chuckled quietly. "It won't be as bad as today. They will only exchange the temporal filling with a permanent one. It shouldn't interfere much with kissing."

"Good." Sherlock winked at John - his heart beat a happy rhythm against his ribcage - and scooted over on the couch to make room for his friend - boyfriend. It only took John five seconds - Sherlock was proud of him - to get Sherlock's request.

Somehow, they managed to fit on the couch together, with their legs intertwined and John lying half on top of Sherlock. It was a tight fit, but if you asked Sherlock, it was perfect. John's breath tickled his neck with every exhalation and Sherlock only had to turn his head to the left to press a kiss to whatever part of John's face was closest, when he so wished. If five days of middle-rated and twelve hours of unbearable pain had been the prize to pay for John in his arms, then Sherlock couldn't complain about such deals. John was worth everything.

He tightened his arms around John and received a kiss in return. "You are special," John whispered in his ear.

Sherlock smiled and refrained from telling John that he had already figured as much out. "You are special, too," Sherlock whispered against John's skin instead and they both knew the hidden meaning behind this word.

 _Special_ , Sherlock mused as John's kisses lulled him to sleep, described their relationship perfectly well. After all, everyone could say _I love you_.


End file.
